


Where You Go, I Will Follow

by athena_crikey



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Coming of Age, Drama, First Time, Fluff, Lost and Found, M/M, Pining, Whump, future!fic, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 15:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: "I kissed you because I love you. Because I’m in love with you."Yuuri and Conrad take a trip together through Shin Makoku; neither of them will ever be the same again.





	1. Chapter 1

The time difference between worlds makes matters like birthdays very difficult to calculate. Yuuri knows when he turns 18 at home because his mother buys a cake that must barely have fit in the confectionary store’s display cabinet, all blue icing and marzipan frills, and his father claps him on the shoulder and tells him he’s a man now. 

All this despite the fact that by his calculations, he must be more than 19 by now, and already the monarch of the most powerful kingdom in a parallel world. He certainly doesn’t feel any older, but perhaps he’s begun to grow into the curious agelessness of the Mazoku, to become like Wolfram who’s nearly 60 years his elder, and Conrad, who’s a century old in their years. 

A century, and he doesn’t look a day over 25 – it’s hard to believe. Or it was, years ago. Now it’s just become one of those things, part of the ordinary workings of his day like attending banquets and riding a horse and bestowing honours on deserving citizens. 

They throw him a party in Shin Makoku as well to celebrate his Earthly coming of age – it’s a far more elaborate affair than the one at his house, which had been just the family and Murata. This one includes dignitaries from around the globe, and exotic presents of animals and jewels and fabulous weapons. Gunter catalogues them all carefully; each gift will need to be carefully acknowledged afterwards, the resultant mound of paperwork in part negating the fun of it. 

The gifts aren’t all from foreign diplomats vying for his favour, though. Gunter gives him an antique history book full of the battles and sieges that formed the modern alliances. Gwendal gifts him a writing set – beautifully silver-inlaid quills, designed for the fancy calligraphy he has yet to master. Wolfram presents him with a dagger set with jet stones – “Not that I can imagine you using it, you wimp.”

And Conrad? He’s been looking forward to that most of all. The anticipation thrills him as Conrad approaches the throne towards the end of the evening when the rest of the crowd is beginning to dwindle and those who are left have lost their interest in watching his every move. He’s smiling softly as always, and Yuuri’s struck as he often is by the fact that it’s Yuuri’s presence that brings him joy. 

He’s known for years that it’s Conrad who holds his heart; he’s kept that knowledge buried deep inside him, afraid to show it in case it changes the way Conrad looks at him or the warmth of their relationship. He would rather have Conrad’s friendship than ruin it looking for love. But for once, he now lets anticipation set his heart pumping.

“I thought when the celebrations were finished, we could take a trip,” the swordsman says. “I can show you Shin Makoku – the real Shin Makoku. It’s less a gift from me than from the country,” he adds with a hint of self-deprecation. 

“Yes,” answers Yuuri, “Thank you. I would love to.”

He’s been ruling the country for years, but in that time he’s seen more of the rest of the world than his own lands. There have always been urgent incidents to take him abroad, and occasionally the threat of civil unrest at home to keep him in Blood-Pledge Castle. He wants to get out, wants to know the land, to know the people. 

“Let’s go as soon as the celebrations are done,” he adds, suddenly eager. Eager to be out, exploring his own country. 

Eager to be with Conrad. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

He goes incognito, his hair dyed, his eyes a false hazel. Wolfram pitches a fit at not being allowed to come, but he’s far too ornamental to keep a low profile. Conrad, for all that he can call charisma and command to himself, easily steps into the shoes of an ordinary man. Yuuri thinks it’s less his human blood than the life he’s led because of it, the ostracisation he’s faced from Mazoku society. For all that he is a nobleman, he’s lived a large portion of his life below the salt, and it tells not in any lack of refinement but in his ease with all walks of life. 

They take three horses with them on the journey, one each and a third loaded with their supplies; Conrad intends them to be gone for a month, and while there will be food and shelter on the road it’s best not to rely on it. 

At the base of the wide, temperate valley that provides Blood-Pledge Castle with most of its food Yuuri pauses, looking back at the castle. From across the fields it’s already shrunken from an imposing behemoth to a scenic sight, its towers and crenellations cutting a crooked, uneven silhouette against the blue sky. 

Yuuri takes a deep breath; here, away from the castle town’s peat and wood fires, the air is clean and fresh. “Ah, it’s so wonderful,” he exclaims, spreading his arms wide. Conrad smiles.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Yuuri, _Nazukeoya_. Besides, I’m supposed to be incognito on this trip. We’re just two friends, journeying across Shin Makoku. It’s going to be great!” He pumps his fist into the air, grinning. Conrad’s smile widens, his eyes gentle. 

“Yes, Yuuri.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

He knows from Gwendal’s maps and Gunther’s history books that Shin Makoku stretches across vast plains and over frigid mountain ranges until it reaches the natural boundary of the sea. He’s been to all those places – has fended off a civil war on the planes and sought out medicine in the forgotten mountains and launched diplomatic journeys at Shin Makoku’s ports. But his trips have always been with a purpose never related to the land or its people, but rather entangled in politics.

Ultimately for all the magic and wonder of this world, it is a medieval society. As they journey across the plains they meet farmers ploughing their land and shepherds tending their flocks. In the villages they see the women weaving and dyeing and the men shoeing horses and brewing beer. And for all that they seem cheerful Yuuri realises for the first time how close to poverty his subjects live, and how close to starvation. They’re one bad winter’s width away from disaster, from deprivation and death.

“We need to do better,” he tells Conrad one afternoon in a small village, sitting beside an ancient granny and helping her move the shuttle along her weaving. The wool is rough and grey, its coarseness reflecting the scraggly nature of the local sheep. “This isn’t good enough. These people deserve more.”

“Wars have been fought for freedom and politics, for royalty and religion. Never for the common people,” says Conrad. He’s perched on a bench beside them peeling potatoes with his knife. Yuuri’s eyes keep turning to Conrad’s hands, to his dextrous fingers skillfully slicing the skin from the potatoes. Conrad excels at every task he turns his mind to; it would make Yuuri jealous if he wasn’t so in awe of it.

“I don’t want to fight wars,” replies Yuuri. “It’s peace that brings prosperity.”

Conrad raises his eyebrows. “That’s not the way things have been approached in the past.”

“Well, it’s the way they will be in the future,” says Yuuri grimly. 

Conrad smiles. “Yes, Your – Yuuri.”

\---------------------------------------------

They sleep in haylofts and on hillsides and stretched out on stone floors in front of wide hearths. Yuuri insists from the first that he doesn’t want Conrad using his charisma, or wealth, to find them beds. The people they’re visiting sleep on the floor or thin straw mattresses – why should Yuuri have better?

Often times they lie close together, sharing blankets and straw pallets, Conrad freely giving his warmth and the protection of his body. Yuuri’s dreams are filled with the swordsman, with a soft tenderness and an aching want that lingers when he wakes up in the mornings to find Conrad already up and dressed. 

\-----------------------------------------------

Although it’s summer now, when they journey up to the foot of the mountains the air grows brisk and the ground harder with occasional frosts. The village homes turn from wood to stone, their walls thick and their roofs sharply slanted to withstand deep snowdrifts. The animals here are larger and covered with thicker wool, closer to yaks than sheep. Conrad shows Yuuri what greens to feed them and they lick his hands with their immense, rough tongues. 

“You’ve seen dragons and sand bears and giant koalas, but ordinary beasts can be just as rewarding,” says Conrad. “They’re in many ways the backbone of our economy, and the people here consider them part of their family. A shepherd will search for days in a blizzard to find a lost animal.”

Yuuri laughs as the yak-beast pulls the greens from his hand with its tongue. He pats its shaggy head and it gives a contented snort. “I’m glad they’re so well looked-after,” he says. “But I’m just as lucky. You would search for days in a blizzard for me.”

“I would search until I found you,” replies Conrad, smiling, but beneath his pleasant expression Yuuri senses the gravity of his tone and knows the words to be true. They leave him feeling torn inside, wanting to somehow reach out to Conrad, to hold him, to return his loyalty with love.

“I know,” he says instead, and turns to mount his horse. 

\-----------------------------------------

Yuuri’s often wondered how Conrad feels about him. Superficially, of course, he is aware that Conrad loves him better than he loves himself – that he would give life or limb without question to protect Yuuri. His absolute loyalty is the rock on which Yuuri has built his life here in Shin Makoku – at every turn, every threat, every moment of need, Conrad has been there for him. But beyond that, he can’t read the swordsman’s feelings. Certainly he’s never signalled any hint of desire. But for a mere captain to court a king – or, to look at it another way, for a man to court a boy – would be beyond the bounds of acceptability. 

Yuuri’s no longer a boy, but his adulthood hasn’t evinced any noticeable changes in Conrad. Except, he thinks, for this trip. Conrad’s never before taken him on a solo journey simply for the experience of it, has never forbidden others to join them – notably Wolfram. Yuuri’s just not sure whether it means anything.

\------------------------------------------

They stay one night in a village at the foot of the mountains and then move on, their horses treading through rough heather. Conrad has another village in mind for them to visit, but it’s two days away and necessitates a night of camping. 

As night draws in, the sun setting early behind the mountains towering above, they find a campsite used by local shepherds, provided with two logs and a fire pit. Conrad looks for wood while Yuuri tends to the horses, hobbling them and then grooming and feeding them. He’s unpacking the food and blankets when Conrad returns bearing mostly sticks and twigs – the trees here are small and mean. 

“I’m afraid it won’t be much of a fire,” he says apologetically, dumping the wood down beside the ash-filled pit and then beginning to build a fire. 

“It’s still warm out,” replies Yuuri easily.

Conrad looks up. “The sky is clear; it will be cold tonight.” He lights the wood on fire and spends a few minutes poking sticks into it until it catches in earnest. 

They eat dried meat and raw vegetables for their dinner; not for the first time Yuuri imagines Wolfram’s face if given such a meal and smiles. 

“Yuuri?” asks Conrad. He’s becoming more used to abandoning the formality of the court, more comfortable addressing Yuuri by his name, although he still does slip up occasionally. 

“It’s nothing,” Yuuri says, shaking his head.

They sit shoulder to shoulder on the same log, the horses behind their backs blocking some of the wind slicing down the valley. 

Here, sitting beside Conrad so close that he can feel the other man’s warmth, he suddenly feels emboldened. He straightens, eyes carefully on the fire. “Conrad?”

“Mm?”

“When I was younger… that is… Do you remember when Stoffel tried to marry me to Raven’s niece?”

“Certainly. One of my uncle’s more memorable schemes.”

_Short of civil war_ , thinks Yuuri. But he continues: “Do you think… could that happen again? People just deciding to try to marry me off?”

Conrad rests his hands on his knees, his high well-polished boots shining in the firelight. “Arranged marriages are a reality of noble life. An alliance with a king would advance a country’s status immeasurably. There are many of your allies who would – and have – contemplated such a thing. For the time being, you’ve been protected by your well-known engagement to Wolfram.”

“Oh,” says Yuuri, in a small voice. For all of Wolfram’s possessiveness, he knows it’s no secret to the blond Mazoku that Yuuri’s heart resides elsewhere. But Wolfram takes so much pleasure in their engagement, and it provides a stable family for Greta. He’s been unwilling to break off their arrangement with nothing to replace it with. “So Wolfram’s been protecting me?” 

Conrad looks over at him. “Wolfram loves you, Yuuri. He would happily spend the rest of his life with you. But I think…” he trails off, clearly reluctant to suggest Yuuri might not reciprocate his brother’s feelings.

“Wolfram knows it’s not mutual. He has for a long time. I love him – just not like that. But I always thought he just liked being close to me, and Greta. I never imagined he might keep it up to protect me.” He feels suddenly deeply guilty, a sense of shame dragging at the pit of his stomach. He pushes it away – now’s not the time for it. That’s what 2am is for, when he’s lying sleepless and alone in bed. 

“Wolfram is more thoughtful than he’s given credit for,” says Conrad, tactfully not calling out Yuuri directly. “And he’s personally aware how much pressure can be brought to bear on a young noble without attachments.”

“ _You’re_ a young noble without attachments, Conrad,” points out Yuuri, in a spurt of bravery. He glances over and catches Conrad’s eye; the swordsman smiles. 

“Well observed, Your Majesty. But Mother understands what she calls free love very well. She has never tried to force any of us into a relationship. She has always felt that we will find our own betrothed when we’re ready.”

“You’ve never been ready?”

“For love? Perhaps, once or twice in the past. But not for marriage,” answers Conrad easily. The idea that Conrad’s been in love before, been with others before, makes Yuuri’s heart lurch. But of course he has – he’s over one hundred, and more than that is handsome and charming and a renowned soldier. The perfect man, excepting perhaps his non-existent sense of humour. 

Yuuri kicks at a stone; it rolls into the fire. “I don’t want to be married off for the sake of some alliance – I can make my own alliances. But if a king can only marry another member of royalty…” _Then I’ll never marry_ , he thinks defiantly.

“No,” says Conrad gently. “There have been instances in the past where the Maou has married a commoner. Some have been long and happy marriages, others have not. But it is not forbidden.”

“Good!” Yuuri nods. “That’s how it should be. But I guess I’m getting ahead of myself – I’m not ready to marry anyone. I haven’t even kissed anyone. Ever,” he finishes, in a depressed tone.

Conrad smiles. “No one is judging you.”

“I just… I want my first kiss to be someone I love. Someone I love more than _anything_ ,” he adds. “Not just a… an _experience._ ”

“Very sensible, Your – Yuuri,” he amends, seeing Yuuri’s sharp look. 

Yuuri is struck by Conrad’s closeness, of the press of his arm through the fabric of his sleeve. Of the heat of his body and his scent – sword polish and leather and sweat. 

He suddenly, very badly, wants to kiss Conrad. His stomach is full of butterflies, his heart pounding in his throat. Conrad’s mouth is _right there_ – all he had to do is lean in.

Yuuri stands suddenly, stumbling backwards over the log. “Goingtothebathroom,” he garbles and hurries away into the darkness, threshing through the heather.

He can’t confess to Conrad. Can’t show his true feelings. Just can’t bear to risk it. When he returns he changes the topic, and they spend the rest of the evening talking about their plans for the next day. 

\-----------------------------------------

The next village they stop in is one where Conrad is known to the locals and is welcomed into their homes. Yuuri he introduces as a friend, just as he has the whole journey; Yuuri hangs back while Conrad reforges old connections created who knows how long ago. With the Mazoku lifespan, it could have been decades. 

They’re brought into the village’s one gathering place, a small tavern with dark beams hanging low overhead and narrow windows letting in thin streams of dusty light. It smells of smoke and beer; he sits off to one side while Conrad drinks with the village’s men and they talk about old times – from the sounds of it Conrad has fought with some of them. 

Yuuri watches Conrad while he stands at the bar, the long line of his back straight, his smile easy-going and warm. Although he was born to a queen he has no trace of hauteur; he mingles easily with the villagers. After last night’s near miss, Yuuri still feels his heart speed when he looks at Conrad but he can’t turn away – he’s drawn to the swordsman like a moth to a flame. They’ve spent so much time together on this trip that he’s forgetting his boundaries.

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” says a quiet voice to his side.

Yuuri turns and sees a girl a few years younger than himself sitting on the bench beside him. He has no idea where she came from. She’s wearing a worn purple dress that’s too big for her, and an apron blotched with flour and dark smudges.

“Sir Weller, I mean,” she adds. Her face is pale with freckles, and is streaked with the same dark smudges as her apron; her dark hair is in two pleats. She smells faintly of peat, and he wonders if she’s been tending fires. 

“Yes, he is,” agrees Yuuri, smiling. “What’s your name?”

“Ethel. I’ve heard stories about Sir Weller for years; I wondered if I would ever meet him. He saved our village, you know. It was before I was born.”

“I didn’t know. But that sounds like the kind of thing Conrad would do. I’m Yuuri, by the way.”

She tilts her head. “Nice to meet you, Yuuri. Are you in love with Sir Weller?” she asks, with startling frankness.

Yuuri sucks in a breath and chokes on his own saliva; she very politely pounds him on the back. “W-what makes you say that?”

“The way you look at him when he’s not watching you. You look lovesick. Just like my older sister pining after Hans the blacksmith’s boy.” She pauses. “Mama says I’m terribly forthright,” she adds, as if in apology. 

“Conrad’s one of my best friends,” he replies, circling the issue warily.

“Does that mean you can’t love him?” she asks curiously.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I don’t think it matters. He doesn’t love me back.”

“Did he tell you so? That doesn’t sound very much like Sir Weller.” She frowns, rubbing at a smudge on her apron with her thumb. She succeeds only in turning her thumb black. 

“He didn’t say. But he’s never… that is… I just don’t think he does,” says Yuuri, lamely. 

“You shouldn’t make assumptions. They’re very often wrong.”

“You _are_ forthright, aren’t you?” Yuuri smiles, and pulls out his handkerchief. “Here, you’ve got… whatever that is, all over your thumb. And your face.”

“Thanks.” She takes the handkerchief and wipes and her face and hands. “This is lovely cloth.”

It’s from a department store and cost 500 yen; to her it’s something she could never make or barter for. “Keep it,” he says. When she looks at him, shocked, he nods. “It’s payment. For your advice. You’re right: I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

She rubs the cloth softly against her face. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

\------------------------------------------------

They stay overnight in the village and leave in the middle of the next day; Conrad wants them to make their way through a mountain pass and onto the plains on the other side. The side of the mountain is rocky and strewn with boulders; many of them are growing moss and lichen. The grass, such as it is, is short and weedy. 

“I’m really glad you brought me on this trip,” Yuuri tells him, as they trot their horses along a narrow mountain path. “The people we’ve met have been great.”

He looks up at the mountain stretching tall above them; they’re riding beneath a cliff-face on the right side, while on the left the ground slopes downwards more gently. High above he can see the mountain’s snowy tip. Conrad had mentioned there being a glacier up there, frozen even in summer. 

“You should know the kingdom you’ve worked so hard for. You’re a legend to them, but there’s no reason they should be an unknown to you.”

“Someone there said you saved the village a long time ago. What happened?”

Conrad shifts his reins to the left hand and stretches briefly before answering. “This valley used to be beset by bandits who lived high in the mountains. They would come down and raid the villages and then return to their stronghold. It was surrounded by unstable rock – near here, actually – which they would collapse onto anyone who came after them, making it difficult to drive them out. I led a group of men around from the other side of the mountains and took them by surprise; the bandits were captured or fled and did not return. Many of the Mazoku in the village today were part of that raid.”

“You’re a hero to them,” says Yuuri, smiling.

“I was doing my duty.” 

From overhead there’s a sudden booming sound, like thunder echoing through the skies. Yuuri looks up, frowning. The sky is clear. “Thunder?” he says, turning back to Conrad.

Conrad’s face is terse. “Ride on,” he snaps out, tugging the pack horse’s lead. “Hurry.”

Yuuri urges his mount forward into a canter – the slope is too treacherous for a gallop. “Faster!” shouts Conrad from behind him. 

Overhead, he sees the first boulder start to roll down, and realises what’s happening – a rockslide. Heedless of the danger he kicks his mount into a gallop. The horse is panicking now and takes off on its own accord, nearly throwing him. They fly forward together, the first head-sized rocks bouncing over their path. One strikes the horse’s flank; it grunts but continues its dash with Yuuri bent forward over its withers, holding on for dear life. 

Somehow, they outride the rock slide. He doesn’t slow until they’re well clear of it, his whole body shaking with adrenaline.

He turns and looks back and sees nothing but heaps of rock strewn across the path.

No sign of Conrad. 

For an instant his heart stops. Just shudders to a dead halt in his chest. 

Then it jolts back to life, and he pulls so hard on the reins he turns the horse’s head forcefully. It whinnies, upset and still half-frantic, and shudders to an unwilling stop. He tries to urge it around; it refuses to turn. He throws himself off it and runs back, shouting, heedless of the danger: “Conrad? _Conrad!_ ”

He sprints over crunching gravel and mud, past boulders the size of a car. They’re lying thrown about like a giant’s toys; he skids and stumbles between them, searching desperately. “CONRAD!”

“Well well well,” says a cold voice from behind him. Yuuri stops, turning. There are three men standing there dressed in dirty clothes, swords in hand. Their faces are scarred, their grins showing missing teeth. All three are staring at Yuuri like a trio of cats contemplating a mouse. “What have we here?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Who are you?” asks Yuuri, realising that not only does he not have Morgif with him now, he didn’t bring the sword on this trip at all. 

“We’re old friends of Sir Weller,” replies the foremost, a tall man with black hair and a missing eye covered by thick scar tissue. 

Yuuri looks from him to the others, all three brandishing swords and looking hungrily pleased. “You’re the bandits,” he says, slowly.

“What a bright boy. Weller’s protégé, are you?”

“I’m his friend,” replies Yuuri, staunchly. “And I’m going to find him.”

“What a nice sentiment. But actually, you’ll be coming with us.” He lowers his sword and gestures at Yuuri with his free hand; the other two hurry forward. Yuuri turns to run, but his feet skid out on the muddy, gritty terrain and he falls. As his head hits the ground, he feels one of his contacts pop out. 

The two bandits pull him to his feet, one grabbing his jaw and turning his neck painfully so he can consider Yuuri’s face. “He’s got one black eye, boss,” reports the goon. 

“I hear our old friend Conrad’s become very chummy with the Maou of late. You wouldn’t know him, would you?” asks the one-eyed man. Yuuri says nothing. He comes closer and, before Yuuri can turn away, shoves his thumb in Yuuri’s eye, swiping it to the side. “Well what do you know? A young black-eyed Mazoku. Who’s to bet this isn’t your true hair colour?” he adds, grabbing Yuuri’s hair and dragging him forward by it. 

“Let me _go_ ,” snaps Yuuri, trying and failing to break away. 

The bandits laugh. “Or what?” sneers one of them. 

“Or I’ll make you sorry!”

More laughter. The one-eyed man grabs Yuuri’s collar and hauls him forward. “You’re nothing without your guard dog. If he’s still alive, he’ll come after you. And we’ll take care of him then. Come on.” 

The other two frame his sides, and together they drag him forward, towards the mountain-top. 

\-------------------------------------------------

The bandits are rough and contemptuous. They sheath their swords as they work their way up the mountain, striking and kicking Yuuri when he tries to fight back. After a few good blows to the head he’s too dizzy to make much headway in escaping, can barely keep struggling on as they drag him up the steep rocky slopes. They curse and laugh at him, threatening him constantly with worse to come once they arrive at their stronghold. 

The stronghold turns out to be a deep cave in the mountainside with paths leading up to it in many directions. Yuuri is too befuddled to realise he’s there until one of them kicks his legs out from under him and he falls, cutting his palms open on the rough ground as he tries to catch himself. “Stay there like the good Maou you are,” laugh the bandits; one gives him a hard boot to the stomach and knocks the wind out of him. 

For several minutes he lies on the stony ground trying to catch his breath and marshal his thoughts. Over the years he’s been training to master his magic, but despite Gwendal and Wolfram’s tutelage he can only control water, and then only when it’s already present. There’s no water here to bend to his bidding, and unless it rains that’s unlikely to change. He still after these three years has little to no control over the Maou’s more monstrous powers – they come and go when they please. 

He lies there, beaten and dizzy, until it begins to grow dark outside. He gathers from the bandits’ quiet discussions that there’s to be no search; if Conrad’s out there they’ll wait for him to come to them.

_If._ The idea that Conrad might be dead is devouring him from the inside out, eating him up flesh and bones and all and leaving behind just a soul-destroying emptiness. He knows he should be positive – that he should believe in Conrad. But the destruction wrought by the rock slide was immense, and there had been no sign at all of Conrad in its aftermath. The knowledge that if their roles were reversed Conrad would already have defeated the bandits and would even now be searching for him makes him sick. 

In the past when he’s been captured, he’s always known that he had nothing to fear. That come hell or high water Conrad would be along soon to save him. Now he feels no such faith. But still he can’t force his fickle powers to do his bidding. And without even a sword he has no chance of defeating the bandits. He concentrates on healing himself: whatever happens, he’ll need a clear head.

\-----------------------------------------------------

They post a guard at the mouth of the cave as the day turns to night, the one-eyed man and his colleague with blond hair and a scraggly beard coming inside and lighting a fire. 

Yuuri gathers as he listens to them that the three of them have come back intending to start up their old gang again and begin terrorizing the villages in the valley below. Conrad’s passing by offered an ideal opportunity for revenge, and to prevent a repeat of their previous defeat. The unexpected prize of the Maou has assured their success: they can random him for his weight in gold. 

His head grows clearer and clearer as he focuses on healing the concussion caused by the blows, eyes closed in concentration. Although he has no chance of defeating the bandits it might be possible to slip out under the cover of darkness. Although what he would do then, alone in the mountains without a guide or any food or equipment, is a pertinent question. 

_Find Conrad_ , he thinks, with certainty. _I would find Conrad._

“Sleeping already?” asks a voice suddenly nearby; Yuuri’s eyes flash open to see the blond man towering over him. “What a pity; the fun’s just about to start.” He grabs Yuuri by the hair and hauls him into a sitting position. He stinks of sweat and campfire smoke, his clothes aged and unwashed. “It was the previous Maou that ordered Weller to roust us out. So I think it’s only appropriate we pay you back for all the pain and suffering she caused us.” He pulls back his fist.

From the cave entrance comes a sudden scuffling. Then, in the darkness, a very curt voice: “ _Let him go._ ”

Conrad.

Yuuri struggles up and is slammed into the wall. In an instant there’s a knife at his throat, his hair held eye-wateringly tight by the blond bandit. The other – the one-eyed man – draws his sword and steps forward. “It’s two to one, Weller. Reuben’ll slit his throat before you can cut me down.”

“Let him go, and no harm will come to you,” says Conrad, still in the shadows. 

“Surrender yourself, and no harm will come to _him_ ,” replies the one-eyed man. The blond – Reuben – pulls the blade up against Yuuri’s neck; he can feel the coldness of the steel, feel the edge cutting into his skin.

“Don’t Conrad – they’ll kill you!” Reuben slams his head up against the stone wall, hard, keeping the knife at his throat. 

“Alright,” says Conrad. There’s a leathery slithering, and then he throws his sword and sheath into the firelight. Reuben relaxes his hold on Yuuri momentarily. 

The next instant something flies through the air like a missile; Reuben gurgles and drops Yuuri who falls to the floor with the blond Mazoku’s weight on top of him and something hot and red streaming over his neck. 

By the time he pushes Reuben off, Conrad has knocked down the other man. “Come back, and I _will_ kill you,” Conrad says, and then kicks him in the head, hard, knocking him unconscious. 

Yuuri can smell blood now and scrambles to pull himself free from Reuben’s weight. He does so and catches sight of the bandit’s neck with Conrad’s knife buried hilt-deep in it; his stomach turns sharply and he gasps.

Then Conrad has grabbed him about the chest and is pulling him free, pulling him away, embracing him and holding him safe and sound. 

He feels cold and dizzy, recognizes suddenly that he’s soaked in the dead Mazoku’s blood, and feels his knees give out under him.

“Yuuri? Are you alright? Yuuri?!” Conrad is hovering over him – Conrad who’s _not dead._

He nods, but in truth he can’t stop shivering, and the world seems to be fading to black at the edges. Conrad runs a careful hand over his head; it comes away bloody. _From being bashed into the wall_ , thinks Yuuri dully. 

“Come on. We need to go. Come with me,” coaxes Conrad gently, helping him up to his feet. He stops and picks up his sword, hooks it through his belt and turns back to Yuuri who’s staring down at the third man – also dead, his neck bent unnaturally sideways. For a moment the world blacks out; when he blinks it back into existence Conrad’s holding him up from behind. “You’re alright. You’re alright,” soothes Conrad. “Come on, Yuuri.” He leads him out of the cave and down the mountainside. 

Tethered nearby is one of the horses – in the dark, Yuuri can’t tell which one. Conrad helps him up onto it and then swings himself up behind, and they’re off down the steep trail, Yuuri leaning back against Conrad. 

“Please don’t leave,” he says, head spinning and body aching.

“I won’t, Yuuri.”

\-----------------------------------------------

They ride for a long time that night, picking up one of the other horses further down the mountainside. He doesn’t realise where they’re going until they arrive back at Ethel’s village, Conrad waking up the village chief and helping Yuuri into his house. He’s put to bed – in an actual, proper bed, albeit with a straw-stuffed mattress – and sinks quickly into darkness.

\-------------------------------------------------

When Yuuri wakes up the next morning he has a bad headache. He reaches up and finds his head and hands girt with bandages – someone obviously was tending to him in the night. He’s alone in a small stone room, a fireplace at one end of the room with a fire burning in it despite the warmth. He remembers suddenly his chill from last night, the way he felt cold to the bone. He gets up and feels aches and bruises all over his body; he shuffles over and warms his hands in front of the fire, a little of last night’s shock seeping back into him.

There’s a knock at the door and a moment later Conrad comes in. He has one arm in a sling and a dark bruise over his right eye; he’s wearing different clothes from yesterday, and Yuuri wonders what happened to his old clothes. But, looking down, he sees he too is dressed in a spare set of clothes. 

Then he remembers the blood pouring over him hot and thick. Remembers the smell of smoke and sweat suffocating him, remembers the sharp pain of the knife against his throat. 

It must show in his face because Conrad takes him by the shoulder. “You’re safe now, Yuuri.”

He takes a deep breath, tries to fight down his leftover fear. “I know. I’m sorry – I know.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It was my fault. I put you in danger. If anything had happened…”

Yuuri looks up at him, eyes wide. His memories are pouring in furiously now, crushing him with their weight. “I thought you were dead. I thought – I didn’t know – _Conrad_ ,” he says, heart suddenly overflowing with fear and relief and the remains of panic. The agony of separation and the thrill of finding each other surge through his veins like liquid fire, scorching him.

Completely overwhelmed by emotion, he leans forward and kisses Conrad. 

It’s a brief, chaste kiss, his mouth pressed against the swordsman for fewer than five heartbeats. Sudden fear blossoms up in him and he jerks away, eyes wide and terrified. “I’m sorry – I’m sorry,” he stammers. “It was the adrenaline, I’m totally overwrought – with you and the bandits and the cave and –” he blabbers on, words spilling heedlessly out of his mouth, fast and furious, as if by digging further he could dig himself out of this hole.

“Yuuri,” cuts in Conrad gently, “Stop.”

He stops, breathing hard. Conrad is watching him, still holding his shoulder. “It’s alright. You experienced something very frightening; it’s perfectly normal to feel overcome by it. What matters is that you’re alright.” He’s speaking carefully, eyes watchful. 

He’s flooded with things he wants to say, feelings he wants to express: _It wasn’t just shock! I love you! Please don’t hate me! I’m so happy you’re alive!_ They all jumble up inside him, a complex web of fears and truths and desires that pinions him. He ducks his head, tongue-tied. 

“We can talk later – for now you should eat something,” continues Conrad. He leads Yuuri out into the house’s main room where a battered wooden table sits beside another fireplace, this one with a heavy iron pot over it. Porridge is already served at the table; he sits down and takes up his spork wordlessly. 

Conrad and the village chief talk about village gossip and the weather and this year’s harvest, a pleasant background chatter while he eats. The lady of the house fusses over him; her two children play with wooden horses at his feet. It’s as pleasant a domestic scene as he can imagine, and slowly the tension and the fear bleeds out of him. He doesn’t forget the earlier scene between him and Conrad, but for the moment it fades in importance. 

He turns to look at Conrad when he’s finished his meal: “I should take a look at your arm.”

“You should heal yourself first,” replies Conrad.

Yuuri frowns. “I’m fine. Come here,” he points at the bench beside him. Conrad smiles and comes over, sitting down and pulling his arm carefully free from its sling. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt today that sets off his eyes; it reminds Yuuri of the uniform he wore in the past – of the Lion of Luttenburg. It could have been the Lion who came for him last night; for all that he hadn’t been able to see Conrad’s face in the shadows he had known that for once the swordsman wore no smile at all. 

_I can be cruel to a man who threatens you_ , Conrad had said once. The words come back to him now. 

Yuuri hovers his hand over Conrad’s arm, and feels his magic being drawn to a break near the elbow. He coats his magic over it like a stonemason spreading mortar, pouring more and more until he feels the bone begin to knit together. 

He’s worked with Gisela these past years to improve his healing, and unlike his offensive magic it has made a noticeable difference. She’s even suggested he could train as a full-fledged healer if he wanted to; unfortunately his other commitments make that impossible.

Eventually he feels himself growing tired and finishes. “It will take another few days to heal it altogether, but that’s almost halfway there,” he says. “For now, though, you should keep it in the sling.”

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Conrad does as he’s told, slipping his arm through the length of fabric knotted around his neck. “The villagers have offered to let us stay as long as necessary. And to send a party up into the mountains to see that the bandits are laid to rest.”

_Even in his cruelty, he’s decent_ , Yuuri thinks, and nods. 

\------------------------------------------

While Conrad gives a small group of men instructions about going up into the mountains, Yuuri slips out to get some air. He walks through the central square where women are doing their washing and men are sharpening tools. As he goes he sees Ethel hemming a skirt, and waves. 

“Yuuri!” She smiles and sets down her sewing. Her eyes take in the bandages on his head and hands and her expression grows concerned. “Are you alright? I heard you were attacked by bandits – they didn’t say you were hurt.”

“I’m fine. It’s just scratches; they’ll heal soon.” He sits down beside her on the side of a stone retaining wall holding a central bed of flowers. 

“They said Sir Weller took care of the bandits – is that true?”

His mind flashes briefly to Reuben’s weight atop him, crushing him; he shivers. “It’s true. They won’t bother you.”

“Thank goodness. No one here knows how to fight, you know. The men who served in the army stayed there and never came home.”

“I’m sure the Maou would make sure you’re protected,” says Yuuri, smiling.

“It’s funny – you have the same name. Were you born in July?”

“I was, as a matter of fact,” replies Yuuri. “But I’ve never met the Maou,” he adds. It’s not technically a lie: how could one meet oneself?

“Your eyes seem darker than when I saw you before.”

Yuuri laughs nervously. “It must just be the light.” And then, before she can become suspicious of his lame answer, he continues: “What do you think of the Maou?”

She considers, head tilting to the side and tongue caught between her teeth. “I think he must be very wise,” she says, after a minute. “When he was first crowned, everyone here thought he would be a pawn for Sir Stoffel, or one of the other 10 Nobles. But he’s done things they would never have, and succeeded. I don’t know if humans are as terrible as everyone says, but I don’t want another war. My older brother died in the last war – I never want us to have to fight again. The Maou has made peace with the humans, and kept it. Some of the older men grumble about it, but if it can work I want it to. And he defeated Soushu and saved Shin-Ou; he deserves our praise and gratitude for that.”

“Thank you,” says Yuuri, momentarily overcome by her kindness.

“For what?”

“Oh, just… you know. Answering my question.” He waves his hands, trying to distract from the fumble. 

She giggles. 

Yuuri changes the subject.

\-----------------------------------------------

He walks around the village in the day talking to many of the villagers. He learns how to tell here when it’s going to rain, and if the summer will be a dry one, and which yak-beasts will have young in the spring and which won’t. He helps to sole shoes and wash clothes and mend a leaky roof. He senses Conrad’s constant presence, close and watchful, but apart. The swordsman is giving him his space. 

Yuuri doesn’t blame him.

He doesn’t know how to explain what happened earlier today to Conrad. It would be easiest to say nothing and let him assume Yuuri acted out of shock or anguish. But he doesn’t want Conrad to think that. He wants more, wants truth and honesty and yes, Conrad’s heart. He’s starting to be less afraid of being rejected than of never sharing his feelings at all. Conrad _could_ have been killed yesterday, and he would have died without knowing that Yuuri loves him more than anything. 

That evening after dinner in the village chief’s house they sit out on the edge of the town watching the sky turn dark. They sit in silence for a long time as forget-me-knot blue turns purple streaked through with pink clouds. It has a confectionary prettiness to it, all soft pastel colours and fluffy shapes. 

“Conrad?”

The swordsman looks over. They’re sitting side-by-side on the fence of a yak pen; Conrad’s injured arm is held tight to his chest, his other hangs by his side. With his booted feet hooked up on a lower rung of the fence below he looks perfectly at home here. 

“This morning… I _was_ scared – terrified, really – and at the same time so happy you were okay. But that’s not why I kissed you. I kissed you because I love you. Because I’m in love with you.” He’s repeated the words in his head a thousand times this afternoon, over and over while he was hammering nails and washing dirty shirts and chatting with Ethel. “If you don’t – don’t love me back, or feel anything, that’s okay,” he adds hurriedly, going sharply off the rails of his prepared speech. “I mean, we can just pretend this never happened. No one has to know. And I mean, why would you love me? You’re amazing and talented and handsome and noble-born, I’m just … _me_ ,” he finishes, pathetically, slumping. 

“Committing myself to your service from the moment you were born brought me fulfilment I never dreamed I would have,” begins Conrad, slowly. Yuuri looks up. “In the years since you came to Shin Makoku, seeing you step fully into your role as Maou, bringing peace and prosperity to our people, has brought me pride. But in this last year being close to you has brought me a joy I never anticipated. And I’ve been selfish with it – because while I saw you watching me, I never once acknowledged it. I hoarded your glances and soft looks and never returned them. It wasn’t my place to fall in love with my master. That’s what I told myself. But I have – beyond any hope of recovery. And it’s no longer a secret my heart can keep.”

Yuuri stares, heart so full in his chest that it aches. “Are you saying…?”

Conrad reaches out with his good hand and rests in gently against Yuuri’s cheek. “If you’re willing to grant me your love, I will without question grant you mine.”

Their first kiss was awkward, a sudden one-sided outpouring of affection fed by shock and terror and relief. Their second, on the paddock fence behind the mountain village, is softer and warmer. Conrad places his mouth to Yuuri’s and Yuuri yields, unsure but following Conrad’s lead. The swordsman has dismounted the fence and is standing in front of Yuuri, encircled in the young Maou’s arms. His free hand strokes Yuuri’s hair at the nape of his neck as their mouths intertwine, Yuuri feeling a sedate warmth fill him from his core and seep outwards to envelope him. 

He’s never felt this _right_ , this at peace. As if every yearning he ever felt, every need he ever had, has just been fulfilled. The world beyond has slowed as though dipped in treacle; there is just him and Conrad, the two of them so close to being one. 

Conrad breaks away to take a breath, resting his forehead against Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri buries his nose in the thick hair at the back of Conrad’s head, smelling the sweet soap he uses. He presses a kiss against Conrad’s neck with all the tenderness of a kitten. 

They stay that way for a long while, just holding each other, two halves finally united into a perfect whole. The last rays of the sun disappear from the sky above and the early stars begin to come out, bats swooping low over the village gathering for the nightly feast. 

“We should go in, or everyone will be asleep,” says Conrad quietly, to Yuuri’s shoulder. He raises his head and meets Yuuri’s eyes: ready. 

“Okay,” says Yuuri, hopping down off the fence. “We’ll go together.”

\--------------------------------------------

They’re offered any number of beds in any number of homes; Conrad, sensing Yuuri’s desire for privacy, requests they be allowed to use the tavern floor provided with a pair of thin straw pallets. The tight, dark space is illuminated by a fire in the grate and a series of lanterns hanging from the rafters; Yuuri arranges the straw pallets beside each other, covering them with blankets while Conrad puts out all but one of the lanterns. 

They sit up together for a long time, Yuuri tucked against Conrad’s chest, the two occasionally sharing soft kisses but also spending time simply basking in the other’s closeness. 

When they eventually go to sleep it’s under the same blanket, Yuuri pressed close to Conrad’s good arm. Yuuri drifts off with Conrad’s scent surrounding him, utterly contented.


	3. Chapter 3

If Ethel is a reliable barometer, everyone in the village knows what’s transpired between them in short order. She greets him later the next day with a blushing smile, her eyes mischievous. “And how is Sir Weller today?” she asks him when he comes across her at midday, seated again in the village square, now busy with darning. She has a basket of thick woollen socks beside her, and is doing the heels and toes over with thick coarse wool. 

He gives her a sharp look. “Conrad’s fine,” he says. She giggles, and he sighs. “What?”

“You make a cute couple.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“The two of you have been going around all morning as if joined at the hip. The way you look at each other when you think no one’s watching… _yes_ , it is obvious.” She puts in a few more stitches to the sock she’s currently holding while he watches. “I’m sure he will make a fine lover,” she adds, with a village girl’s perception. “Sweet, yet firm.”

_Lovers_ , thinks Yuuri, blushing. If they haven’t already earned the name, they will soon. He’s eager to grow closer to Conrad, to give himself up to the swordsman and earn Conrad’s body and soul as he never has before. 

“And you?” she asks, when he fails to answer.

“Me what?”

“Will you make a good match for him?”

He’s been wondering the same. He has fame of course, and money and castles and horses and banners and servants. But he knows Conrad isn’t interested in any of those things. What does he have, that Conrad would want? “I love him,” he answers, simply. “I hope that’s enough.”

Ethel looks up from her darning. “If you believe it is, then it will be,” she says.

\------------------------------------------------

They decide to cut their trip short and return a week early. They’re both still battered from the bandit’s ambush, and have lost most of their supplies and their pack horse and, perhaps more importantly, Yuuri has lost his contact lenses. He’s also lost his thirst for adventure – he still wants to see more of Shin Makoku, but right now he wants to be back in Blood-Pledge Castle where everything is familiar and both he and Conrad are safe. They decide to head east to the ocean and buy passage on a trading vessel to return to the castle town’s port. 

It’s a two day journey to the sea, and they take it slow. Yuuri is still healing Conrad’s broken arm, as well as his own scrapes and bruises. Conrad tells Yuuri the history of the people who live in these lands – he makes it far more interesting than Gunther’s dry leather-bound books, brings alive their hopes and dreams and desperation for a better life. 

The more Yuuri sees of his kingdom, the more he’s committed to working not just for the 10 Nobles but for the people of Shin Makoku. He’s been taught that it is the work of the nobles to improve the circumstances of their vassals, but that’s not good enough. He’s going to university this year at home, and he’s going to switch his major to agriculture; he needs to know how to bring these people forward, to provide them with better lives. If things are to change, the first thing to do is build a more stable agrarian system. 

He tells Conrad all these things, and sees Conrad’s pride in his answering smile. “Reforms will be difficult, Yuuri. Not everyone is open to change.”

“Not everyone was open to peace, either, but we made it happen.”

“You made it happen,” replies Conrad softly. “Where you go, I will follow.”

\---------------------------------------------

They spend the warm evenings in soft embraces, lying together on dusty dirt clods. The energy between them is growing more intense, kisses and touches growing hotter and heavier. But they both want to wait for a proper bed and four walls to take things further, each thinking of the other’s comfort. 

\---------------------------------------------

Yuuri finishes healing Conrad’s arm the day they ride into the port of Meerburg, a small town with a stone jetty and several mid-sized sailing ships. A fleet of fishermen are out on the ocean, their tiny boats rocking with the waves. Seagulls cut through the sky overhead, their white plumage shining boldly in the sun. The surf hammers up against the jetty, soaking them; Yuuri laughs and Conrad smiles, while the horses snort disgustedly. 

Yuuri sits drinking a hot spicy drink in the back corner of a tavern while Conrad barters for passage for them; with his black eyes plainly visible for all to see he’s trying to keep a low profile. He had a pair of sunglasses but they were lost with the rest of the equipment, and honestly they garnered almost as much attention as his black eyes. When he was in disguise as a rich dilettante they had suited just fine, but in his guise as a poor traveller they stand out like a sore thumb. 

Conrad returns from his conversations on the far side of the tavern with a pint of beer and some information: “I’ve arranged for passage on a large trading vessel. They regularly carry a small number of passengers, and have a free berth. It will be cramped, but nothing else that carries passengers is sailing in the next week. 

“When does it leave?”

“With the tide – in about an hour.”

Yuuri smiles. “Then I have time to finish my drink.”

\---------------------------------------------------

The ship isn’t as modern as Shin Makoku’s leading hydrofoil or the cruise ship he took near Cabalcade, but it’s a large 3-masted vessel with a forecastle and ample deck room. Unlike their war vessels there are no cannons mounted along the deck; instead cargo has been fastened down with ropes and netting. 

The ship’s lower decks are, as Conrad predicted, cramped. The ceilings are low and the berths small – theirs is a shared double bed with a tiny table and curtained-off cubby to serve as wardrobe. But the bed has a proper mattress, and it fit in neatly between the bulkhead and the side of the ship. A porthole looks out over the waves and lets in the sharp sea breeze. 

The ship sets sail on the tide, the sun low over the mountains in the west. There are about ten passengers apart from themselves, all of whom cluster together on the deck to watch them sail out of the bay. Yuuri’s surprised at how small the crew is, but then he’s used to sailing on naval vessels which are crewed for combat. Merchant ships can’t afford more hands than absolutely necessary. 

They dine with the captain in his quarters with a few of the other passengers; how Conrad arranged it he doesn’t know, and doesn’t ask. Dinner is a large cooked bird accompanied by several other dishes – northern hotpot, a strange kind of curry, and a vegetable ragout. The food was cooked on land, he is told by the captain; after tonight the food will starkly diminish in quality. 

Some of the other passengers look put out by this news; Yuuri doesn’t mind. It can’t be worse than the dried meat and raw vegetables they’ve been eating between villages. Besides, he grew up on simple home cooking, not fancy nightly feasts. His time in Blood-Pledge Castle hasn’t changed that. 

After dinner they head out into the cool night air, the breeze rippling the sails high above. The stars are shining, the moon casting a long pale carpet of light on the ocean below. Everything is calm, peaceful. Beside him, Conrad rests his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

In a few days, they’ll reach the southern port and from there Blood-Pledge Castle. And everything will get complicated again. His royal duties, his engagement to Wolfram, his obligations to Greta. His relationship with Conrad will impact all of them. 

He doesn’t want to think about that yet. Wants to spend what little time they have together, alone. 

“Let’s go down,” he says to Conrad. The swordsman nods, fingers tightening on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

\---------------------------------------------

They end up together in bed, Conrad sitting with his back resting against the bulkhead, Yuuri straddling his lap. They’re lost in each other, Yuuri savouring the warmth of Conrad’s mouth and the silkiness of his hair. He’s framing Conrad’s face in his hands, his fingertips buried in Conrad’s thick chestnut locks. The intensity between them is building, Yuuri pressing closer to Conrad, his hips slowly canting against Conrad’s. There’s a warmth growing in the pit of his stomach, an aching need that’s spreading through him like wildfire. His fingers are twitching with it, his mouth hungry as his tongue probes Conrad’s with increasing passion. 

Yuuri slips his hands beneath the hem of Conrad’s shirt, pushing it up to reveal his bare skin. His chest is incredibly firm, his skin soft and deliciously warm under Yuuri’s hands. He breaks their kiss for a moment to pull Conrad’s shirt over his head, leaving him naked from the waist up. 

Conrad’s torso is mottled by scars. Yuuri’s fingers trace over the ones left by Big Shamalon’s arrows, wounds he had healed on the battlefield while his tears washed Conrad’s skin. He ducks his head and presses a soft kiss to one, then another, giving thanks with each caress for Conrad’s health and happiness. 

While he’s doing this Conrad slowly unbuttons his shirt, pulling it gently from Yuuri’s body and conducting his own careful inspection of Yuuri’s paler skin. When Yuuri’s finished paying homage to his wounds Conrad pulls him up again and this time there is sweetness and saltiness in their kiss, followed by ardour so strong it makes Yuuri dizzy. 

He can feel Conrad’s erection through the swordsman’s tight pants, can feel his own straining against his underwear. He wants more than kisses, and he grinds his hips against Conrad’s to make that evident in the most obvious way possible. The resulting friction is amazing, but still not good enough. “More. Please,” he pants against Conrad’s cheek. 

Conrad’s deft hands find their way to his belt and fly and open them, sliding his pants down over his hips. He’s wearing his usual briefs – not Gunther’s preferred g-string – and Conrad palms his hand against Yuuri’s aching cock through the cotton; he gasps and snaps his hips forward. Conrad chuckles lightly against his ear, then runs his tongue over the sensitive flesh there even as he coaxes Yuuri’s cock from his briefs. A moment later he’s shuffling his own pants and underwear down, and then in a moment that feels like heaven on earth he’s caught their straining erections together in one hand and is stroking them.

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” gasps Yuuri, unaware that anything in life could feel this good, this right. Conrad’s palm is slick with sweat and precome, and the sensation of Conrad’s hand on his cock – of _Conrad_ touching him, jerking him off – is incredible. More than that the hard pressure of Conrad’s erection against his own is heady and hot as hell. He cants his hips forward, closer, desperate for more pleasure, desperate to be nearer to Conrad. He’s panting hard, skin shining with sweat, and he _needs more_. He seals his mouth over Conrad’s and locks their tongues together, moaning as Conrad’s hand moves faster, his fingers tightening. 

Yuuri comes first, spilling up all over Conrad’s stomach and crying out as the orgasm is wrung from him; his entire body shudders with it, and Conrad wraps his free hand over Yuuri’s back to hold him close through the throes of his ecstasy. 

Heartbeat beginning to calm he looks to Conrad and sees his head thrown back, eyes shuttered with desire, mouth half-open. 

“Can I?” he asks, putting his hand over Conrad’s pumping fist. 

Conrad’s eyes slide closed. “Please,” he groans, relinquishing his hold on his cock in favour of Yuuri.

Yuuri’s only ever gotten himself off, but it’s not complicated. He wraps his hand around Conrad’s prick and picks up the pace, pumping hard. He rubs his thumb over the tip and grinds his hand down at the base, palm passing over Conrad’s balls – Conrad moans, head thudding against the wall behind him. Noting the reaction, Yuuri does it again, and again. Conrad’s breathing hard – harder than Yuuri’s ever seen him, covered in a sheen of sweat and looking beautifully debauched. He’s only seen Conrad like this in his wildest dreams, never imagined that he could have this effect on the unflappable swordsman. 

He grinds his palm over Conrad’s balls again and Conrad shudders; he keeps pumping with his right and hand and uses his left to caress Conrad’s balls, timing his movements with his stroking. Conrad gives a hoarse cry and comes, his hands gripping the bedclothes tightly, his eyes firmly shut. Yuuri strokes him off until he finishes, then slides down to sit beside him on the narrow bed, his head resting on Conrad’s shoulder. 

“That was amazing,” he says, intertwining his fingers with Conrad’s.

Conrad gives a soft snuffle of laughter, squeezing his fingers back. “It was, wasn’t it?” Conrad turns and presses a kiss to his cheekbone, his eyelashes brushing against Yuuri’s temple. 

Whatever happens when they reach port, Yuuri thinks suddenly, they’ll be okay. Because this is something he’ll fight for to the ends of the earth. 

\------------------------------------------------

They clean themselves off a little while and get dressed for bed – much as he wouldn’t mind sleeping naked with Conrad, as Conrad points out there’s always the possibility of trouble at sea. For that reason Conrad’s sword lies on the table, within easy reach. 

The sea grows a little rough as the ship moves out into open waters, but nestled against Conrad’s side Yuuri scarcely notices it. When he falls asleep, he doesn’t wake until morning.

\-----------------------------------------------

They spend the sea voyage learning to give themselves to each other. They lie in together in the mornings, spend the afternoons shoulder to shoulder on the deck watching the porpoises leap alongside the ship’s bow, and come to know each other’s bodies intimately in the evenings. 

It’s a week of discovery and closeness, a time when they have little to worry about beyond themselves. They reforge their friendship into something stronger; for the first time Yuuri feels that they have all the means at their disposal to make it clear how essential they are to each other. In their touches and their kisses Yuuri can feel Conrad’s passionate love – and signals his own right back. 

The entire ship has come to think of them as newlyweds and they do nothing to disabuse this assumption; it allows them an uncommon amount of privacy for a sea voyage, excusing their unsociability and focus solely on each other. 

They do occasionally focus on serious matters ahead, notably on their shared future and the barriers they’ll face.

“Wolfram might have accepted your breaking your engagement to take a true lover, but to do so in favour of his brother…” Conrad sits on the single chair in their tiny berth, Yuuri perched on the side of the bed. The swordsman’s elbows are resting on the table, his hands supporting his chin. 

“We can wait as long as we need to,” answers Yuuri. “I won’t lie to anyone, but we don’t need to make any announcements. We can end the engagement and worry about replacing it later.”

“Are you proposing not telling Wolfram?” asks Conrad, glancing at him.

Yuuri feels the words like a blow. “No,” he says, drawing his legs up to his chest. “I couldn’t hide that from him. Or from Murata or Gwendal or Gunther. Or Cheri-sama. They all deserve to know. What they’ll think…” he trails off, staring out the porthole. “Maybe I should have broken it off with Wolfram a long time ago. Things would be easier now.” He can’t very well jump out of a relationship with one brother right into a relationship with the other. Even if one was nothing more than empty words.

“Your reasoning for maintaining your engagement was sound,” replies Conrad. “And you’re right. We have time. You will be away much of the next few years studying at university. We can wait for your return to fully begin our life together. For now, we can lay the ground work.”

Yuuri sighs. “You’re right. But… I don’t want to wait. I want everything now. I want everyone to know, and I want them to be happy about it.”

Conrad smiles. “It’s a nice wish, Yuuri. But relationships take time.”

“I know.” He rests his chin on his knees. “You’re right. I’m just not very good at being patient.”

“You’ll still have me. We’ll just have to be discreet.”

Yuuri sighs again, looking at Conrad and giving him a lopsided smile. “I’m not very good at that, either.”

\------------------------------------------

They have one night left before they come into their port of call. The sea is calm, the stars shining like bright candles in the firmament. They dine with the captain again; at the end of the meal he wishes them the best in their future life together, wherever they’re bound. Yuuri thanks him, wondering how they’ll ever conceal their relationship in Blood-Pledge Castle when everyone on the ship figured it out in under a day. 

They retire together to their berth, full of salt beef and hard tack and the captain’s mediocre wine. 

This close to home, Yuuri feels even more desperate for Conrad’s touch, for the reassurance of his presence. It may be days, or even weeks before they can find time alone together again. 

Yuuri sits on the bed, pulling off his socks and shoes, while Conrad stands gazing out the porthole at the night sky. “Conrad?”

“Mm?” Conrad glances at him, his long back straight as if he were sitting a horse, his weight balanced over one hip. 

“Tonight… I want you. All of you. Can we?”

They’ve kissed and fondled, given each other blow jobs and hand jobs. But Conrad’s been holding back on going further, and Yuuri’s followed his lead. 

“Are you sure?” asks Conrad gently.

Yuuri nods firmly. “I want you. More than anything.”

“Come here.”

He stands and steps over to Conrad. Together in the flickering lantern light they undress each other, Conrad setting a slow pace. They take off tunics and undershirts, belts and pants, until they’re standing naked under the lantern’s glow. Conrad produces a small bottle from his pack and places it on the table, then seats himself on the edge of the bed and pulls Yuuri over to straddle his legs. 

For several minutes they embrace, kissing each other with increasing abandon. Yuuri’s already half-hard at the idea of what’s to come; he feels Conrad’s answering erection pressing against his thigh, and thrusts his hips forward with a soft sound. Conrad’s hands drift down from Yuuri’s shoulders over his back, then slip over the roundness of his ass to begin to knead into the soft flesh there, pulling his cheeks slowly apart. His fingers are strong and dextrous, and the feeling as they gently open him is intoxicating. For a minute he stops; when he starts again the fingers of his right hand are slick. 

Conrad traces his fingers down the cleft of Yuuri’s ass and over his entrance, smearing slippery liquid over it. He breaks the kiss to whisper, “Ready?” in Yuuri’s ear; Yuuri nods against him.

Conrad slides one finger inside him. It’s a strange sensation, a feeling of tightness and tension. It’s not bad, but it’s also not the ecstasy he had imagined. Conrad begins working the finger in and out of him, still kneading Yuuri’s ass with his other hand. He presses his mouth back against Yuuri’s, and for a moment Yuuri almost forgets about the finger inside him. 

Then it’s joined by a second. The feeling of two fingers is more than double the feeling of one. Yuuri catches his breath – this time, as Conrad kisses him deeply, he feels his cock twitch, feels the flush of arousal in his stomach. Conrad begins scissoring his fingers apart, spreading Yuuri’s entrance wide and it feels _good_. He ruts his hips forward against Conrad and the answering throb from his cock sends a delicious wave of ardour up his spine. 

Conrad pulls his fingers out slightly and then presses them back in at a new angle; as they slide in they press against something he had never known was within him. The sensation jolts him – it’s a strong shock, halfway between pleasure and alarm. “Does that feel good?” asks Conrad.

“Do it again,” suggests Yuuri.

Conrad does, rubbing his fingers more slowly over the spot. This time, with the increased pressure, his hips snap forward of their own accord, pleasure coursing through him. “Yes,” hisses Yuuri between his clenched teeth, and then, “Again.”

Conrad obliges. Yuuri moans and starts screwing his hips forward, eager for friction against his cock to match the throbbing rapture Conrad’s fingers are creating inside him. A third finger is added – this he hardly notices, lost now in his own pleasure. And then Conrad is half-pulling, half-lifting him into the bed on all fours, his face near the outer hull of the ship. 

The sensation of Conrad’s cock pressing into him is nothing like his fingers. It’s far thicker, and as his prick’s head breaches Yuuri’s entrance the tightness is incredible. Conrad swears – something he’s never heard before – while Yuuri scrabbles to find something to hold. He’s almost overwhelmed by the feeling of Conrad pushing inside, but then he’s in and sliding slickly against Yuuri and they’ve fit together like two matching puzzle pieces. Conrad thrusts forward, locking them together, hips against hips, his stomach against Yuuri’s back, his arms surrounding Yuuri like the sky enveloping the land below it.

“Oh God,” mutters Yuuri, panting with exertion and the intensity of the experience. 

Conrad begins thrusting, canting upwards into Yuuri, his breaths coming in tight gasps. His hands slide down to rest against Yuuri’s hips, pressing himself more tightly inside. 

As he pushes in, in, in his cock is sliding over that pleasure point within Yuuri, hitting it not every time but often, and each time he does Yuuri gasps and shudders and feels like he’s about to burst. He’s over-full with pleasure, so tight with it that it threatens to split him at the seams. “Conrad, _Conrad_ ,” he gasps, unable to think of anything else to say, mind totally filled with the enormity of his ecstasy. 

Then Conrad’s hand slips around and finds his cock, and the pressure of Conrad’s palm against him combined with the repeated throbbing bliss of being fucked from behind is too much. He bursts into orgasm, coming hard and fast and shuddering as he does, Conrad pounding into him the whole time making the experience even more mind-blowing than he had ever imagined.

Conrad finishes almost immediately after him; he feels the warm spurt of Conrad’s rapture inside him, Conrad’s arms slipping up to hold him tight as he thrusts his seed into Yuuri. A moment later they tumble down into the bed together, panting for breath.

It’s a long time before he can find any words to say, before he trusts himself to speak. “Conrad?”

Conrad presses a kiss to his shoulder, his thumb rubbing against Yuuri’s wrist. “Please never leave me,” Yuuri whispers.

Conrad blows a soft, warm breath into his ear. “Where you go, I will follow. Always.”

END


End file.
